


Belonging

by thegrendel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: Can a bisexual man, a gay man, and a heterosexual woman form a family?





	Belonging

I looked up at her smiling face.

"Nice biceps, guy."

 _Well, yes, and nice of you to have noticed._ I hoisted the barbell  
back over my head and gently cradled it down in the supports. Maybe next  
time I'd break my bench press record of 235 pounds. Ah, well. . . . One  
of the unforeseen side-effects of making the health club coed was the  
constant interruptions you had to put up with. Not that this didn't have  
its benefits now and again.

"Thank you, my good woman, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather  
rather be admired for my mind. And by some weird coincidence, my given  
name actually _is_ Guy."

"I'm sure your mind is quite adequate for most purposes, Guy, and if you  
hurry you can get dressed in time to come home with me. The name is Elise,  
by the way."

That was short and to the point. Modern sophisticated women know what  
they want and they're not particularly shy about expressing it. What  
a refreshing change from the Dark Ages, when you'd have to go through  
a whole song and dance just to get a date, never mind the goodies that  
might or might not come afterwards.

 

Elise electronically locked the door behind us. State-of-the-art security  
system. Plush carpeting. Framed paintings that looked like they might be  
originals. Elegant Victorian furniture with plush upholstery and fluted  
hardwood legs. The place positively reeked of good taste and money. Way,  
way out of my class.

"The guest bathroom's over thataway. Freshen up and shower. The bathrobe  
hanging on the wall hook should more or less fit you. Afterwards, go  
down the hall and into the bedroom. Don't bother knocking. The light  
will be off, so just slide under the quilt, and I'll be waiting, dear."

It was dark. I found the bed by bumping into it. Her body was warm and  
yielding under the covers, and her lips were sweet. Sweet! I couldn't stop  
running my hands over the flowing curves of her bare flesh. She couldn't  
stop running her hands over the hard bony angles of my bare flesh.

"What's your favorite position?" she murmured between kisses.

"Doggie usually works," I answered.

"I like sitting face-to-face with my legs wrapped around my partner,  
impaled on his rod, just hugging and kissing and rocking back and forth  
in sustained bliss. It's the most intimate way of connecting, of blending  
together into one flesh. Don't you think?"

"Sounds like a winner," I said. "Let's do it."

And we did.

Later on we did the doggie, too.

And later than that, she flopped over on her tummy and asked me to do her  
in the rear aperture. "The lube's in the top drawer of the nightstand,"  
she said.

Her pussy had been soft and buttery and gently embracing, but her ass  
was tight and demanding, and throbbing with heat. I drifted off to sleep  
thinking that I could grow very fond of this particular woman.

A rushed breakfast and a quick kiss on the way out is not my preferred  
way of saying goodbye to a lover. But Elise was expecting her husband  
back momentarily. Or so she said.

 

Back at the health club pumping iron. That little tryst the previous  
night seemed to have pumped quite a bit of the iron out of me. Damn!  
I could barely manage 200 pounds now.

"Nice biceps, guy."

It was a male baritone. I turned my head to look. A well-built man who  
looked to be in his early thirties was giving me the eye. "Thank you,"  
I answered. "And the name does happen to be Guy, with a capital G."

Well, why not? I'd pretty much had my fill of curves and orifices and  
female softness for a while. Maybe what I needed was the feel of a hard  
body for a change. Being bi does make for an interesting love life.

I let Dan talk me into going home with him. _Home?_ We pulled  
into a very familiar street. And up to a house I had been inside of just  
a few short hours ago. Elise's house, in fact. It suddenly dawned on me  
that Dan was the missing husband.

"I want your ass," he said.

Why not? After all that hard work last night, I'd be perfectly content to  
just lay back (or bend over) and have it done to me. No responsibility,  
no performance anxiety, no stress, no strain. Just let the other guy do  
all the work.

"Sounds like a winner," I answered.

He gave me the full treatment. I'd never had my nipples sucked in quite  
that way, and his technique of fingering my asshole gave me fluttering  
palpitations. Two fingers, then three, and I was craving more. Much more.

He was kneeling facing me, and I was on my back with my torso raised up at  
an angle and my legs dangling over his shoulders. His cock thrust into the  
far corner of my gut when he rocked forward to push further in. Every so  
often, he would lean back and pull all the way out just to hear the slurp  
of lube and body fluids leaking out of my hole, and the low-pitched moan  
as air rushed in to fill the vacuum of my empty rectum. Sound effects  
could be every bit as sensual as physical sensation, he said.

Now he sat back and spread apart my legs, holding them at waist height.  
The "froggy position," he called it. This let the head of his cock drag  
across my prostate gland as he pushed into me. It also changed the  
insertion angle and decreased the pressure against the bend of my  
intestine. This would optimize the sensations for the receiving partner,  
he said. It would make being ass-fucked a memorable experience for me.  
He was right.

His cock slid smoothly in and out, and his groin slapped against my  
butt cheeks when he bottomed out. Every so often, he would stop and  
rest at maximum penetration, and reach a hand forward to play with my  
shaft. I was hard, very hard, but it was as if something kept me corked  
up tight. "Help me," I pleaded. "I can't come."

He pushed my thighs toward my chest, and splayed them open as far as  
they would go. His palms on the insides of my knees pushed my bent  
legs outward to the bed, on either side of my torso. This contorted  
posture stretched and loosened up my sphincter ring and let him thrust  
into me with greatly increased force. "Rubber asshole" was the name of  
this particular configuration, he said. It corresponded to the notorious  
"rubber cunt" position so beloved of bondage afficionados. The result was  
similar: a totally elastic receptacle open to full-force fucking. And it  
provided quite intense sensations to the passive party. Intense enough  
to blow the top of my head off.

I had to admit that he was pretty good at this sort of thing. A real  
master of sodomy, he was.

I was bent over the bed face down when he showed me an interesting little  
variation. He'd just barely enter my ass, maybe just an inch or so inside,  
then pull all the way out, then in again -- fucking me with very shallow  
strokes, actually fucking just the entrance. Sphincter noodling, he  
called it. Damn, I ached to have him further into me, and he laughed  
when I told him that. Then, when I couldn't stand it any longer, he slid  
all the way inside me in one sudden plunge and I came in a sudden storm  
surge of overpressure, spurting fluid under me all over the bedsheets.

Late, much later that night an urge came over me to do _him_ , to  
stick my own aching cock into his hole. He was asleep then, with his back  
to me. I nudged him half awake, and he mumbled something unintelligible,  
which I took to be consent. When I tried to ease into him, he indignantly  
pushed me away.

"Listen, Guy. That's just not the way it's done. As the saying goes:  
'please kiss me before you fuck me.' Huh?"

What he meant was that I should get him ready, the same way he had done  
for me earlier.

So I kissed him. And took his nipples into my mouth and gently rubbed my  
hands over his buttocks. And took his soft dick into my mouth and tongued  
it until it stood all the way up. Opened up my esophagus and let the  
hard cock press deep into my throat ( _What would it feel like,_  
I wondered, _to have him shoot straight down my pipes, right past my  
tonsils?_ ). And finally lovingly encircled the inner darkness of his  
anal opening with lube, fingering and massaging it until it relaxed and  
the sphincter muscles went slack. Then he was ready. And finally willing.

Dan's ass was warm and buttery-soft inside. It felt so much like his  
wife's pussy that for a moment I flashed back to last night, and in my  
mind his buttocks melted into hers, and . . .

I curled up behind him, spoon fashion. Holding on to his hips, I eased  
in and out of him with no particular urgency. A few minutes of this  
heated me up to the point that I needed more vigorous movement, and I  
positioned him on hands and knees and got behind him. That was more like  
it. My thrusts increased in urgency, but I was nowhere near coming. I  
had already come so many times in these last couple of nights that I  
was still at it a half hour later with no relief in sight.

"Good heavens, man, you're wearing out my asshole," he said. "My deepest  
apologies, but I'm just too sore to keep this up."

There was no help for it. I was still hard and horny, so I pulled out  
of him and got down on my own hands and knees.

"All right, then _you_ finish me off, Dan."

"You're on," he said.

He took me doggie style, just like I'd taken his wife. He had his hand  
on my cock, stroking it as he began pumping in and out of me. "You're a  
little tight inside," he said. "Too much tension, I guess. Well, I have  
a remedy for that. I'm going to 'fly' you."

He moved forward, almost onto my back, and straddled my buttocks with  
his legs. The inward pressure from his thighs loosened my sphincter,  
and and the fit of his cock into me became pleasantly snug, rather than  
tightly wedged. He was _flying_ me! It took only a couple of minutes  
before I was spurting, and then my knees gave out and I collapsed flat on  
my stomach with him still deep inside me. We fell asleep in that position.

 

"So, where do we go from here, Dan?"

We were having breakfast. Elise could have taken a few lessons from him  
on the art of scrambling eggs. Maybe about single-minded devotion to  
fucking, too.

"You made a favorable impression on my wife, you know."

 _Wife?_ Elise had told him about me? Where was this leading?

"Of course, we're very fond of each other," he continued. "In a sense,  
you might even call it love. But we just can't seem to . . . relate on  
a physical level. I have certain needs, you see, and so does she. And  
we just can't . . . do for each other. So, we have to turn to strangers  
to take care of . . ."

"Dan, I can see how that might be difficult. You're a man of certain  
tastes, shall we say, married to an affectionate and sensual woman. You  
don't want to lose her, and presumably she feels the same way. Well,  
good and fine. But why tell me all this?"

"I was hoping you could help us, Guy. You're the first person I've run  
into that we can both connect with physically. Last night as I drifted  
off, it occurred to me that you might just be the missing link between  
myself and Elise. If you could only bridge the chasm between us . . . "

So that was it. I was supposed to be the glue to hold together a broken  
marriage. Did I really want to get involved in something that messy?

" . . . and possibly you might be free to join us for dinner tonight  
to discuss this further. Elise would certainly like to see you again,  
and I'm sure I'd enjoy your company, too. Shall we say about eightish?"

 

Eightish it was. Elise was resplendent in an elaborate period gown that  
wouldn't have been terribly out of place in the court of Louis XIV. Dan  
had on a too-tight clawhammer tuxedo jacket with a starched shirt front  
and cummerbund. I was wearing a raggedy flannel shirt over paint-stained  
jeans. The food was superb.

"Well, let's see if we can work this out," Elise said. "Dan and I both  
have developed strong feelings toward you. You satisfy certain physical  
needs for each of us and . . . I guess you could say we just plain  
_like_ you. That could turn into something more significant  
over time, maybe even -- I hesitate to use the word at this point --  
love. To sum up: sure, we'd like to share you, but there might be a  
scheduling problem. Suppose that on a particular night I want you, but  
you're already on with Dan. Well, I couldn't just barge in on the two  
of you, now could I?"

"I take it the two of you have hangups about a threesome," I said.

"Well," Dan answered, "not that, exactly. It's just that as a gay man  
\-- there, I've admitted it, being gay -- I'm just not comfortable with  
even the sight of bare female flesh. My own wife, the woman I married  
for chrissake, her body _nauseates_ me. And seeing her naked --  
even in your presence -- I don't know if I could take that."

"And," Elsie broke in, "while I find gay male sex sensual and exciting,  
Dan is embarrassed about being watched in the act. I've talked to him  
about it, but . . . "

"So, what is it exactly that you propose?" I asked.

Elise smiled shyly. "A proposal is just what we had in mind. We invited  
you to dinner and we dressed up in formal regalia so we can present you  
with a proposal. We'd be honored if . . . if you'd tentatively consider  
joining us as a member . . . as a member of the family. We're proposing  
to you, all right. We're asking you to live with us, at least on a  
trial basis."

She motioned to Dan, and they both stood up and approached. Elise kissed  
me on the forehead and Dan took my hand in his. In unison, they spoke,  
"Guy, would you do us the honor of joining with us as a partner in  
our household?"

Live with them? This was unbelievable . . . insane. But a part of me  
wanted it, wanted it more than I can remember ever wanting anything. To  
be a part of a family -- to share my flesh and my presence and my waking  
and sleeping hours with them, to become _one_ with them. I wanted  
it so much that it hurt.

Growing up, I hadn't had much of a sense of family. My parents were both  
emotionally distant, preoccupied with themselves and their careers. I  
was basically an inconvenience, someone who got in the way, not someone  
to love. I had left home at the earliest possible opportunity and had  
lived by myself ever since. It had been a lonely ten years.

"Yes," I said, "yes." There were tears in my eyes.

 

Elise was sitting astride me in the "woman superior" position. (Women  
_are_ superior in quite a number of ways, aren't they?) She had an  
innocent smile on her face and her eyes were shut. Her body was rocking  
forward and back as she rode me, and she was humming softly. We were  
consummating and consecrating our union. It was the nearest thing to a  
wedding night that I'd ever experienced.

Later Dan would get his turn. Elise had just about pumped me dry and I  
was thinking maybe I'd just flop over on my stomach or get on hands and  
knees and let him take me from behind. Meanwhile, I had this beautiful  
specimen of femininity lying next to me, whispering in my ear. . . .

"Of course, I knew Dan was gay," she was saying. "We grew up together,  
after all. His parents and mine jointly owned a publishing house. It was  
more or less _assumed_ that we'd marry to keep the business in  
the family. Not that marrying him was repugnant to me or anything. I  
_like_ Dan a lot, and if I'm completely honest, I'd have to  
admit that in many ways I even love him. We've always been friends,  
just never lovers.

"We have this arrangement, as you know. We've been satisfying our physical  
needs outside the marriage. It's a makeshift solution, of course, and it's  
about time we . . . "

I must have drifted off at that point, because I don't remember what else  
she said.

I startled awake as Dan touched me. Elise had left.

"Look, Guy, we can postpone this if you're too tired."

"Nope. We'll do it right. I hope you don't mind, though, if I'm not up for  
much more than just taking you inside me."

"I was hoping you'd let me into you. I have this fierce craving for your  
ass, and tonight, of all nights, it has to have special meaning."

I slowly got to my knees and lowered my head to the pillows, supporting  
my weight on my elbows. My dick was limp, and I was feeling droopy and  
pretty much used up.

Dan spread my ass cheeks apart and gently entered me. I could feel  
his cock stretching my anal ring and slowly penetrating up into my  
interior. He held on to my hips and slowly pressed all the way in. By  
the time he was pumping in and out, my dick had begun to stiffen.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. In a muffled voice, Elise asked  
if she could come in and take a peek. Dan sighed in exasperation.

"Lighten up, fellow," I said. "It's a special night. Let's share this  
with her, if only for a moment."

He paused in mid stroke, then slapped my butt cheek and said, "Come right  
in, dear, and watch hubby demonstrate the mysterious art of ass-fucking."

 

"So, Elise, what did you think of my performance last night?" Dan asked  
at breakfast.

"Actually, I was a bit envious. Almost made me wish I had a penis of my  
own, so I could experience what it's like being on the giving end."

"Well, you know there's a handy-dandy little gadget that women use when  
they get the yen to penetrate a lover. It's called a strap-on."

"Are you suggesting . . . ?" she asked, then turned to look at me. I was  
chewing on a slice of French toast, and I gave her my most wide-eyed and  
innocent "who me?" look.

"Any time, Elise, that you get the urge to do to me what you saw Dan do  
. . . well, I guess it could be an interesting experience for the both  
of us. For the three of us if Dan cares to watch."

Elise laughed and Dan blushed scarlet.

 

Living together has its advantages. Not just ready access to your  
partners' bodies, but also potential access to the their financial  
resources. And of that there was more than I had expected.

Dan and Elise owned a publishing house. Armas & Associates was a  
medium-sized firm specializing in gaming and gambling books. In fact,  
they pretty much _owned_ the market in that particular niche. A  
fairly lucrative market it was, too.

Just one book -- _Beat the Casinos!_ \-- had generated half a million  
in gross profit the previous year. Then there were all the books on  
handicapping races, kicking your opponent's butt at chess, winning at  
backgammon, poker, and all the rest.

The firm had recently branched out into popular fiction. This wasn't  
necessarily a rewarding market, since for every big hit there were a  
dozen failures. But a single mega-bestseller could produce millions in  
sales and subsidiary rights.

I began work there as a reviewer. It was a job I took to right away,  
since books had been my most trusted childhood companions. I was to  
sort out submissions from the "slush pile," the unsolicited manuscripts  
sent in by hopeful authors. From a quick scan of a submission, I had to  
decide whether it would go in the "further consideration" basket or the  
much larger "reject" bin. If something looked particularly promising,  
I'd write a short report directed to the attention of a senior editor.

It was a moderately important job. Every once in a while a previously  
unknown writer would send in something that had the makings of a hit.  
Mostly, though, it was a matter of filtering out the semi-illiterate  
maunderings that spewed from the pens and keyboards of frustrated aging  
spinsters, freshly-minted English Lit grads, and other assorted writer  
wannabes. Every one of these pitiful souls was certain their manuscript  
would set the world on fire. They might have been better off just setting  
their own precious work on fire. It got to be depressing, looking at  
mountains of poorly-written crap day in and day out.

I looked forward to going home at night, where I could enjoy the warmth  
and intimacy of Dan and Elise's companionship. Whose bed I slept in  
on any particular night didn't matter all that much. Mostly I let my  
lovers make the choice. Some nights I'd spend time with each of them,  
falling asleep in Dan's comforting arms, and awakening snuggled up to  
Elise's plush bottom, with no memory of having gotten up and changed bed  
partners. On one busy night, I did two switcheroos, getting Dan once,  
and Elise twice. Or was it the other way around? Every bedtime was a  
delicious surprise.

But that job! I needed that job. Needed it for my own self-respect. Before  
hooking up with Dan and Elise, I had been bouncing around from one shitty  
temp job to another. Living from paycheck to paycheck. No money in the  
bank. No goals. No plans. No purpose. Just drifting.

Now I had a home. A base. An anchor. But I needed the reassurance that the  
job gave me. I needed to know that I could be self-supporting, and that  
I didn't need to rely on charity from the people I loved. I needed that  
job to prove that I was worthy. Worthy of respect. Worthy of being loved.

 

I finally decided to give up my hopeless struggle with those heaps of  
manuscripts. I'd take a shortcut. If I could only trust my intuition  
and judgment rather than trying to rely on formal rules and guidelines,  
I might be able to get away with quick-scanning a prospective book,  
then letting the first thing that popped into my head determine its  
worth and further handling, if any.

This had the effect of dramatically increasing my "productivity" -- the  
number of manuscripts I processed daily. What a relief it was walking  
away from my desk at 5:00 p.m. with a clean In Box. And, oddly enough,  
my supervising editor began corroborating my judgment more and more  
often. I even got a commendation for recommending the publication of  
"Congress in the Sacred Halls," a political satire with overtones of  
swashbuckling adventure and bodice-ripping romance.

I was cheating, though. I had begun doing unauthorized editing of the  
manuscripts, indulging a previously unsuspected passion for writing  
irreverently bawdy dialog. So what if I tweaked a few scenes and  
characters? It couldn't help but improve limp plots that needed help . . .

Of course, I got caught. One of the submitting authors complained to a  
senior editor, and that should have been that.

It's not that I feared being fired. I had friends in high places,  
after all. Very high places. But there was talk about a transfer --  
a transfer to the maintenance staff. I wasn't particularly looking  
forward to trading a desk for a mop and a broom.

 

That night we finally did a threesome. It was Elise's turn to be  
with me and I was kneeling in back of her, taking her from behind.  
There was a soft knock on the door, and we both yelled "Come in"  
simultaneously. Somehow that struck us as insanely funny, and we were  
choking on laughter as Dan walked in. Dan began laughing, too.

"Might I have the pleasure of joining you folks?" He asked, in between  
chuckles.

"Y-yes," Elise managed to say.

Dan dropped his drawers, reached for the lube, and hastily inserted  
himself into me. We were locked together in the flesh, the three of us.

Later on, we fell asleep together in the same bed, all three of us. Elise  
held me from behind, and I held Dan from behind. We were truly a family.

 

My clandestine manuscript revisions turned out not to be such a big deal,  
after all. Elise just added editing to my job responsibilities.

"You're our good luck charm, darling. Just by being around, you make  
nice things happen. Since you joined the firm, sales have jumped and our  
overall cash flow has gone up twenty percent. Whatever it is you're doing,  
by all means keep on doing it.

"If you're really dead set on adding to your work load, Guy, then have  
at it. In fact, you show real talent as an editor. But remember, you owe  
me one."

There was a wicked twinkle in her eye. I had a hunch what it was that  
I owed her.

That night, for the very first time, Elise fucked me in the ass. It felt  
just like taking Dan's cock into me, and when I said so, Elise chuckled,  
pulled out of me, and showed me the payload of her strap-on harness.

"I had this dildo custom molded from a casting of Dan's penis. It's a  
perfect silicone replica. Sort of a work of art, wouldn't you say?"

I just turned my back on her and told her to stick it back into me.

 

A writer's workshop? Well, why not? I had developed some aspirations in  
that direction myself. Anyhow, after seeing what many so-called writers  
get away with, I figured I couldn't do a whole lot worse.

Everyone has a story to tell: their _own_ story. All the  
things that have happened to a person in their lifetime, their joys and  
suffering, their hopes and aspirations, their hopes and ambitions, their  
unrealized dreams -- all this lies at the core of what makes a person,  
what constitutes a human life. And the story needs to be told . . . and  
to be heard.

I listened to several people telling their personal story, and to a couple  
more enrapturing their audience with intoxicating tales woven from the  
strands of wild imaginings. Even the made-up stories bore the authors'  
signatures, the stamp of their personal experience. In that moment I  
understood that we are all part of a greater story, the story of our  
interlocking lives and the pain and joy we bring to each other. And  
I realized that if we can tell our own little part of that story, we  
become more complete human beings.

I went home and began writing.

 

I spent one entire night in bed by myself. I needed the privacy,  
I told myself, but it wasn't really that. Dan and Elise had retired  
early. Together. Later I heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking  
coming from the other bedroom.

 

Dan pulled me aside one evening.

"Guy, we couldn't bear to lose you. Things have never been this good at  
home. Thanks to you, I can finally bear to be intimate with my own wife  
without cringing. To be naked in the same room with her. To caress her  
bare flesh. To love her and even make love to her. This is an unimaginable  
gift you've given us.

"At the firm, we're pulling in so much money that it embarrasses me to  
talk about it. I can't help thinking that it's at least partly due to  
your influence. You've been a catalyst. You've shaken up the place and  
supplied a missing ingredient or two. So, I think it's time to discuss  
binding you to us on a more permanent basis."

 

Elise and Dan and I were "married" by a real priestess. A Druid priestess,  
as it happened. Kari was a gray-haired woman who exuded authority. She  
didn't deny her checkered past, but only smiled when I asked her about  
her alleged association in the sixties with Dr. Abelian, the notorious  
"Sex Doctor."

The ritual was a handfasting, a pagan wedding ceremony, and it formalized  
and legitimized our relationship in every sense but the paperwork one. We  
were finally bonded to each other. Married. A married threesome. A  
_family_.


End file.
